


Heila

by asscreeds (venatoris)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Assassin's Creed: Valhalla Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian pining, Like very big spoilies, Mental Health Issues, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Religious Fanaticism, Slight Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Torture, Vomiting, eventually, god these tags sound so horrible but they arent prevalent after the first chapter, not rlly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venatoris/pseuds/asscreeds
Summary: "Heila," an Old Norse verb meaning "to heal."Self-insert fic where the reader is a Dane from a clan with an unhinged leader that lands them in a heap of trouble, and are captured by Saxons after a failed raid. Eivor rescues the mortally wounded reader from certain death & with a little help from the Raven Clan, they are nursed back to health, and Eivor and Reader grow a little closer via helping eachother to overcome their traumas. Cue inevitable lesbian pining and one or two (a little horny) dream sequences that suggest Eivor and the reader have actually known eachother for a very, very long time.This story contains major story spoilers for Assassin's Creed: Valhalla.Reader is DFAB and uses she/her pronouns. Y/N replacer friendly.
Relationships: Eivor (Assassin's Creed) & Reader, Eivor (Assassin's Creed)/Reader, Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed), Randvi (Assassin's Creed)/Reader, love triangle! i have not decided, or! maybe!, sorry randvi im stealing ur gf, sort of. mostly in the background/past
Comments: 9
Kudos: 99





	1. Harrowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellOOO here is my extremely long and arduous journey of writing what is most likely going to become a novel-length mess of lesbian pining and simping for eivor. there might be weird formatting issues, i write out of google docs and haven't used AO3 in years and i am struggling just a little
> 
> big thanks to my friends ilka/abbysfrenchbraid & lana for beta reading! go check out ilka's fic kissed by a wolf if you havent already it is so good
> 
> There are very specific trigger warnings for this chapter that are only referenced to later on in the story - graphic descriptions of violence, physical & psychological torture, religious fanaticism, whipping, vomit, blood, and minor/background character death.

The morning waves broke calmly against the eastern shore of Cent, the salty sea breeze & sting of sand against your face and arms both familiar and calming to you; despite being weeks away from the place you once called home, it seemed the ocean would never change, no matter where you went. You could hear seabirds cry above you, and the gentle bustle of your impromptu settlement as your clanmates began to stir and prepare for the day to come. This was not your home, nor your intended destination when you had departed from your homeland - but, hopefully, you & your clan would make a home out of it yet. Originally you were to sail to Normandy but an unexpected and powerful storm threw your ship off course & you'd landed somewhere in England, according to your navigator, Vilmar.

Sitting around & watching the sun rise would not do much to help your people build a base camp. Before you could even get up, you heard footsteps in the sand behind you, and turned to find Gunnar. " _There_ you are, y/n!" he bellowed, helping you to your feet as you giggled. "We've been looking for you for a meeting - needing your level head and all. We need supplies quickly," he said, quickly guiding you to your leader's tent, the both of you somehow avoiding bumping into clansmen carrying lumber, goods and the like. "Oh, needing _my_ guidance for once, Gunnar? Or are you going to suggest we ride into the heart of a storm again?" you jested, elbowing his side as you walked up the green hillside. He made some sort of huffing sound, like a grumpy animal, and simply ushered you into the tent where your leader Frederik & Vilmar were already arguing.

"We _need_ supplies, Vilmar! Else we'll all starve by the end of the week!" Frederik growled, slamming his fist into the table, sending little carved statuettes out of their places on the map.

Vilmar moved to speak, then saw you and Gunnar standing at the entrance of the tent, visibly deflating & waving the two of you over. "Hello Gunnar, y/n." Your arrival didn't seem to placate Frederik at all… 

Vilmar continued with his thought. "I _know_ we need supplies, Frederik, but the risks outweigh all rewards at the moment. We musn't rush in blindly going _a-vikingr_ , we must make allies first and set up a trade route," he said, rearranging the statuettes to their original places. "We've sent scouts out to every corner of this kingdom, as far as we could, and every single one has come back with word of a potential allyship, _and_ a warning that _every single_ village here is armed to the teeth. We cannot afford to raid right now." 

Frederik seethed quietly, seemingly first accepting Vilmar's words, then growing even more agitated. "And how long will it take, _Vilmar_ , to establish a trade route?" he spat, staring down at the other man with something unreadable behind his eyes. Vilmar held his stare, then looked down at the map. "...A week."

The effect was instantaneous. Before you could even get a word in, Frederik stormed out of the tent, leaving the three of you bewildered, confused & frightened. You knew Frederik could be hellfire at his worst, and he'd always been obsessed with the tales of glory & kings that were told to children, and you had always chalked it up to him barely being 22 winters old, but this was something _else._ Sharing a worried look with your friends, you chased after him, & were met with a small crowd that had already gathered in the center of the encampment. Frederik's clear & raucous voice rang out over your clansmen, and you saw him pacing back & forth on a wooden platform. Like a king.

"Hear me, kinsmen! We may have landed in a strange land, but it is not an _unknown_ land! We are upon the shores of England, the _holy_ country," he spat out the world 'holy' like an insult, "and we are not the first Danes to do so, and we will not be the last. England is the same as any other land - full & ripe of pickings for the _vikingr._ Any and all of the able-bodied, you _will_ ride the waterhorse with me to their Christ-House, and we _will_ deprive them of their stores & silver!"

No, no, no, no, no. This was _suicide._

Frederik leapt down from the platform, immediately heading for the armory, his wolf-fur cape billowing behind him as if he were a great hero from the old tales, though you knew he was anything _but_ . This was not a good plan, nor a _sound_ plan. He was insane if he thought a band of two dozen sea-soaked & exhausted Danes could pillage a monastery & live to tell the tale. You rushed ahead & grabbed his arm. He did not look at you.

"Frederik, please! Listen to me! This will not end well for you, nor for this clan! Follow through with Vilmar's plan instead, please, I am begging you -" you cried, and were met with the man shaking you off as if you were a fly. He turned to you with a wild look in his eye, forcing himself in your space, close enough for you to finally smell the ale on his breath & to see the dullness in his honey-brown eyes. "I have seen great glory in my dreams, y/n. I will not be denied it." You didn't know what to say, staring at him in shock. He looked at you again, and decided something, muttering something under his breath. "You will ride with me," he growled.

This shocked you out of whatever daze you were in. "What? No! I…" you yelped, but he had already turned from you and stormed off again. This was not good. You were never an adept fighter. Sure, you had trained once or twice in your early years, but you would never call yourself a _drengr_. But to go against your leader's word & break your oath to him would be a worse fate, consigning you to Helheim. Begrudgingly, you went off in search of armor & a weapon, the distant sound of thunder rumbling in the sky.

* * *

A few hours had passed, and to the best of all of your abilities, your clan had mustered up a small yet intimidating army. Maybe things _would_ go right, and you'll topple their church like a house of cards, but you couldn't shake the ever-present feeling of something being _wrong_. Finishing the warrior-braid in your hair and tying it with a leather strip, you donned the leather & fur armor handed to you by Runa, your weaponsmith. It did not fit you perfectly, but still fit, and would serve its purpose and protect you yet from whatever weapons the English would use to defend themselves. Your weapons of choice, an axe & a flail, hung from the belt around your waist heavily, and you were not used to the weight of them. A shield adorned with your clans symbol, the stag, laid against your back like a mockery of a security blanket. Taking a swig of mead to warm your belly & calm your nerves, you give one last glance to your tent & personal belongings - the dried flower & a bag of jewelry (that you've had to hide from your kinsmen many times) from your mother, a lovingly-written & tear-stained letter from your father, among other things given to you by your friends & family as parting gifts before your departure from Denmark. 

You did not know it would be the last time you would see them.

Taking a deep breath, you exited your tent and headed for the shore, where many of your clan had already hopped into the three longships, painted red & blue, the stark coloration of the paint looking even brighter against the dark waves of the sea. Were you looking at them any other time, you would have called the scene pretty, but not while you had to wade through knee-deep oceanwater to try and scramble up the side of one of them. You struggled for a bit before a hand grasped your arm and pulled you up, and you heard a familiar voice. "y/n? What are you _doing_ here? You should be staying here, with the women & children!" Gunnar spoke, his voice hushed so that the figure of Frederik somewhere behind him could not hear. You could only send him a sad but stern look. "Frederik insisted." He looked at you for far too long, and you could almost hear him thinking - he knew that you were not a _drengr,_ either. He made some sort of soft sound & pulled you fully up onto the boat, and turned back to face forward in his seat. You could not read the expression on his face.

You sat next to him, both looking forward to Frederik, who turned around as the rest of the _drengr_ boarded the ships, his face somber for a split second before shifting to another, more spry & almost violent expression. His voice rang out against the waves, his blonde hair had already begun falling out of his warrior-braid, sending tendrils of it flying in the wind, & his iron armor shone brightly when the sun allowed it. He was a picturesque _vikingr,_ one you would see in the margins of fairytale books.

"Hear me, kinsmen! Today we sail for Raculf Monastery, upon the Northeastern Shore, for glory & for life! For there it is where we will find the supplies we need to replace those we lost in that dreadful storm, and there is where we will succeed! I know many of you have become doubtful, but fear not - I have dreamt of these moments and seen the glory within, and I have all of my faith in the nine _Nornir_ that we will prevail!" he quaked, earning a few rejoiced battle cries from those around you, and even _you_ felt a little energized, his words setting a newfound battlelust within you that you didn't know you even had. 

Your clan set sail immediately, the wind from the brewing storm to the south boosting your speed on the short journey to the monastery. It would only take an hour or two to get there, if Vilmar's predictions were correct. Nervously you checked your weapons, feeling & testing the sharpness of your axe's blade-edge, and Gunnar gently elbowed your side. "Never took you for an axe woman," he said with a light chuckle, sending you an uneasy smile. You couldn't bring yourself to match it. "I have never been forced to choose, Gunnar." 

His smile dropped momentarily, then returned, albeit a bit smaller, and he turned to you fully. His blue eyes shone with confidence. "Listen, y/n. I know you are worried as I am, but I have faith in both Frederik & the Gods that everything will go right for us this day," he said, gently setting his huge hand on your shoulder and giving a friendly shake. Slowly, you returned his smile. _Maybe so._

It was difficult, however, to be so confident & blindly trusting in Frederik & your luck when the storm roared behind you, moving just as fast if not faster than the longships. Too soon you had seen the white pires of the monastery in view, the columns of smoke from countless houses & other buildings rising high into the air as the monastery's denizens continued their lives unaware to the coming danger, and too soon had you heard Frederik's voice over the roar of the sea again. It began to rain heavily, soaking through the leather of your armor and chilling your bones. You felt as if you were in a dream.

"Look there, men! Our prize, to be split open & savored! Prepare yourselves!" he roared, and it seemed like you had blinked and were suddenly upon the shore: the sails lowered, and just as Frederik blew into his horn, a deafening crack of thunder prevailed your raid, and a fire had already started, the hay-roof of a villager's home struck by lightning. Frederik gave a booming laugh, joyous & strong. "Thor is with us!" 

And like that, you and your three-dozen clansmen descended upon the monastery, moving together like some unstoppable force. Taken off guard the Saxon warriors had little time to prepare for the assault, and many were immediately fell by the first wave of your brethren; thankfully you were at the back, but this left you open to attack from reinforcements - hopefully they would not come. You quickly entered some sort of fugue state where it felt like you were not truly there, not truly controlling your body, letting your arm guide itself, your axe cutting the chests & necks of already weakened Saxons, spilling red red bubbling blood - was this the battle fury felt by _berserkir_? 

You did not enjoy it. You did not find glory in taking these men's lives.

By the time you had advanced closer to the church, many of the buildings were already set ablaze, the smell of wood-smoke & hair burning making you choke. Not even the pouring rain could douse the fires. All at once you were overwhelmed by the sensations, the sounds - iron clashing, battle cries, the screaming of civilians caught in crossfire - it was too much. You felt yourself shake. But you pressed on, finishing the weak off as before, checking corpses (both of your clansmen and Saxons, though notably more of the latter) as quickly as you could to make sure none of them were breathing - you did not know what you would do if you _did_ find one still alive, either kill him or spare him - and, thankfully, you were never injured. Somewhere along the line you had reunited with Gunnar, and you helped him finish off the last of the Saxon warriors, to which he gave a grateful nod towards you, then a nod to the church. _Come with me._

The locked timber doors of the monastery's inner sanctum were no match for the wrath of the _vikingr,_ and crumbled as easily as any other. You both had finally breached the walls of the church when you heard Frederik's victorious cry, and when you turned the corner you could see why - barrels upon barrels and boxes upon boxes of supplies, food, raw materials, and the like. 

You had done it. You had won, raided a monastery, and lived to tell the tale. You felt yourself let out a breath and breathe deeply in, something that felt entirely alien to you, as if you had not taken a breath in your entire life. You felt as if you could pass out on the spot. This alerted Frederik of your presence, and he turned to you and Gunnar immediately, wild-eyed and ecstatic. "We have done it, my drengr! Here is our lifeblood!" You couldn't match his enthusiasm, standing as still as a statue, but managed to let out a light chuckle. _You had done it._  
  


The chuckle turned into a scream as two arrows pierced your shoulder from behind.

Frederik let go of you and you crumpled to the floor, taken aback as a dozen or so more Saxons forced themselves through the church's doors, and another had a knife to Gunnar's throat. Reinforcements.

If they had gotten to the three of you, who knows what became of the rest of your clansmen.

You writhed on the marble flooring, your blood staining the tiles red as you tried to gain your footing, your breathing, _anything_ to keep you grounded in this world and alive as your body could not stand to produce adrenaline anymore from the strenuous and long battle, the sharp pain of the arrows lodged between your shoulder blade & your spine making it hard to do anything but lay there. _At least it had not been your head._

You felt a boot come down upon your back, knocking the wind out of you again, and a hand tangled itself in your hair, pulling harshly against your scalp to raise you up from the floor - seemingly higher than you've ever been - and another hand came to pull your arms behind your back, as if you could even hope to try and break free. A Saxon, a _zealot_ , you would later say, stepped forward from the rest towards Frederik. 

"Hail, heathen," he spat, the rustle of his gilded armor & the voice behind his helmet too loud, too harsh against the once-peaceful quiet of the church. You squeezed your eyes shut. "What brings you here to this House of God, to commit acts of heresy? Tell me why I should not slay you and all of your kin for defiling this place." Thunder roared outside the church, stained glass windows shaking with the sound.

Frederik seemed in shock & at a loss for words. He took a breath, then two, and the Saxon grew impatient. " _Speak,_ worm."

"I, I - we came here for supplies, and -"

"And you thought you could pillage and raid and steal, or maybe you have tried to make peace and were rejected and thought this was the answer. I've heard the same story and the same _lie_ from the other dozens of you Danes that I have slain. I want you to tell me. _Why should I not slay you?_ " You were suddenly very aware of how much of your blood was outside of your body on the floor, where it should not be, and you felt bile bubble up in your throat, saliva drooling from your mouth as if you were a sick animal.

Frederik could not respond. In his mind, he did what he thought was best, not for his clan, but for him; he ran. 

At once arrows were drawn upon him, but the Saxon merely waved an arm & they were dismissed. "Ah, I love a good coward. Let him run & tell other Danes of his failure. Let him live with it. Take the others to Canterbury to be converted." 

You were again jostled around, catching a glimpse of Gunnar in your periphery, who had cast his gaze down at the ground with a blank stare. You both had the same thought.

_He left us._

Before you could finally let yourself pass out from shock, you felt a hand on your jaw, turning your head this way and that. "You're a pretty one, eh? Not a fighter like the others." The Saxon from before. You couldn't meet the man's gaze, locking eyes for a just a second before you looked to the floor again. He gave a light chuckle. Thankfully, he said no more, and you felt yourself grow weaker and weaker as you and your kinsmen were bound & loaded into carts like animals, the rain having let up, only lightly sprinkling now. You fell asleep and dreamt nothing. It was both a blessing & a curse.

* * *

When you awoke, you were corralled in some sort of cage with a few others, and you could feel the morning sun beating down on your back. You went to move but were suddenly reminded of the arrows still present in your back and let out a wheezing, pained sound, frightening some of your clansmen around you, waking up others. They had not sustained much injury in the battle aside from bruises and little cuts - your injury, amongst all of those still alive, was the worst. The Saxons had not even been so courteous to break off the shafts, and the nauseating feeling of the arrowheads moving between your muscles as you sat up nearly made you wretch onto the dirt. You were not used to pain like this. Among the others in your cage - all women - you found Hanne, Runa's daughter; Ulla, who you truly didn't know her origins but she could fight like a bear; and little Lissi, a winter younger than you, and in almost the same boat, though she had trained for combat for several seasons now. They all sent you sorrowful looks as blood began to drip from your nose & mouth onto your front, staining your tunic further. Tunic? You looked down. The Saxons had stripped you of your armor, at some point when you were asleep. Figures.

You all sat there quietly for the remainder of the morning, any attempt at conversation harshly shushed by a well-armored guard standing nearby on watch. From what you could see, he was bored… as if these circumstances were normal to him. Capturing & abusing prisoners. These Saxons were a new ugly.

At some point, maybe during noon or after, bells sang from the church on the hillside, and a small, squirrely-looking old man had come down to bring all of you some dry bread & bowls of water. It was not a filling meal but you ate it gratefully regardless. He looked upon you & your kith, bound & shackled and being handfed like dogs, with great pity. An hour passed, and you were all allowed to relieve yourselves, though for some it had come too late. Then dusk came, and a different man approached your cages, followed closely by another armored Saxon. The man spoke in a strange tongue from an open book with a cross on the front, and from what English you understood you supposed it was some sort of rite, or blessing, or maybe a curse. Then they both went away, and you were all left alone for the night. They had not treated your injuries, nor given you anything to eat past the bread & water from midday. You thought of those back at the settlement, and hoped that they were safe… they did not deserve this mistreatment. And then you thought of Frederik, and a new fury from somewhere deep within you came to light. That fucking _ergi._ Abandoning his people. Maybe he had gone back to them, alone, and the thought of it made your blood boil - what lies would he tell them? It did not even matter if he told them, there would not be enough men left to rescue you. You looked up to the world around you in the cage, ignoring the burning of the arrows, and studied the night sky, and how the lights of the city reflected against the villager's homes, and how the moon seemed to give the church its own glow. _This is what Frederik gave me_ , you thought. _Consigned to die in a cage, locked up by an animal by the Saxons. Or worse._ You saw a lone crow circling the church's highest point. And to yourself, you made an oath.

_I will see to it that the coward faces what he has broken._

* * *

Another day went by, the same as the last, and then another. Some priests came by in the early morning of the second day and finally rid your back of the two arrows, though they did not truly clean the wounds, only simply broke off the shafts & quelled the bleeding. You were all only fed bread and water. On the third day, you refused your "meal," partly because of your burning hatred of Frederik to do anything properly, partly because of the fever that had set in and worsened rapidly over a few hours. You did not feel like yourself.

As you did every day, you sat still in the corner of the cage & observed villagers, soldiers, priests & pilgrims pass by, like a dog staring from the back of a kennel. Today, however, you were given the chance to see two new faces pass by - two new _outlander_ faces. One of a tanned man with a beard in strange white & red gear, who looked upon you & your kith with a strange expression, and a tall, hooded woman with bear fur draped about her shoulders. A Norseman, plain in sight, and none of the Saxons in the city had even batted an eye at the pair. She looked at you with pity first, then her brows furrowed, and muttered something to her companion, who gave a short reply. They continued up the hill to the church - pilgrims, maybe? Doubtful.

An hour passed, and then two, then three, and another priest approached your cages. He spoke of conversion, some rite, and honestly you'd tuned him out after the first few words. Suddenly he turned to you, and the ice-blue of his eyes shocked you still. "Will you accept the love of God into your heart?"

You didn't know what to say. This felt like an insult, after all these people have put you through. You made up your mind quickly. Maybe it was your fever speaking for you. "No."

He made another sort of sad face, and then was suddenly shadowed by the same Saxon that had cornered Frederik, back at the monastery.

"Then we will make an example out of you yet, little heathen." You did not have time to prepare for the pair of armored guards dragging you out of the cage, your arms still bound behind your back, and maybe kicking and screaming was not the best reaction, given one of them suddenly backhanded you and shocked you into quietness. A handful of villagers had heard & perhaps caught a glimpse of the debacle and stopped to stare for a moment, before another heavily armed Saxon waved them away. You were brought away from your kinsmen closer to the church, where a foreboding column of wood jutted out of the center of a clearing. Its purpose was made clear as you were made to kneel and your arms were tied to the bough of it, in mockery of a praying position. Public humiliation. Or worse.

Unfortunately worse. A notable crowd had gathered, and though you could not see them, you could hear them mutter amongst themselves somewhere behind you. Some cheered for your punishment, some began to cry, knowing what was coming. The Saxon zealot circled you twice. You did not meet his gaze.

When he spoke, he bellowed his words so that the crowd may hear. "Here we have the little Dane, a fork-tongued thing that has dared to cast aside the love of God! What _heresy_ ," he said, his words poisoned with sarcasm & mockery. Somewhere to your left, you heard the squirrely-man's voice call out for mercy. "Please, Eadwulf! This is not the way of God!" Eadwulf simply waved the man away. "These pagans killed more than two dozen of our men at Raculf. Only one death of theirs is a kindness." _Death?_ Oh, no. You did not sign up for this. You don't deserve this. You found a new will to live in the way you squirmed against the bonds to no avail. _Fuck._

Eadwulf prowled somewhere behind you, and you felt sweat dripping down your brow. You heard a chain, or a whip maybe, rattling, and the sound of the crowd's murmurs growing louder, and how the entire city seemed to grow quieter. _This is not how I am meant to die._

_"If you will not accept the love of God, heathen, then bend to his wrath."_ How poetic. The first slash was unexpected, painful, making your entire body seize up as if you were dropped into both boiling & freezing water as the cloth & skin between your shoulder blades split, fresh blood spilling down the already-stained tunic. The second came only a few seconds after, worse than the first, and you let out a scream loud enough to frighten a flock of crows from a nearby tree. You felt warmth on your back. Whenever you moved, you could feel the lashes rubbing against the dirty & coarse clothing, made doubly worse by the dull, throbbing pain of the arrows. The third came nearly half a minute later, unexpected, and you screamed again. Then the fourth, fifth & sixth came in quick succession. You felt bile rise in your throat, spilling out onto the too-soft grass beneath you, onto the lumber in front of you. The seventh, eight, ninth and tenth came and went, and in your shocked, adrenaline-addled state, you barely felt them. You felt yourself grow weaker against the pole, the too-warm sensation of your own blood running down your back almost a comfort. Eadwulf said something else, you don't quite remember, and then the crowd dispersed. You were left there to die a martyr.

You don't know exactly _when_ you had passed out, but you awoke during the quiet coolness of the night to a blurry image of the strange hooded Norse woman in front of you, cursing. "Are you still alive, _kona?_ Stay with me," she said, voice somehow strained yet comforting all the same. You could only barely lift your head to look her in the eye, to which she cursed a little more colorfully. "I'm getting you out of here." She cut you loose from the wood, and helped you to stand (which you could barely do) before realizing that wasn't really an option. Cursing even _more_ colorfully, a feat you didn't know she could accomplish, she took her hood off & draped it over your back, making you sharply inhale as the cloth stuck to the dried blood at your back. "I know, little crow. I know it hurts, but please, you must stay with me." She whistled faintly, and a black horse came trotting over, giving you a weary look. Even the animals had pity! Or maybe it didn't want some half-dead creature on it's back. Either way, she set you on the saddle, sitting behind you so that you didn't fall off during the ride, apologizing immediately for any discomfort the position might cause you. Before she could grasp the reins, you stopped her. 

"Please…" your voice was hoarse, and you did not recognize it. "Please, my friends, my kin… are they still imprisoned?" The woman made some sort of sound, as if she had forgotten of the others she passed by today. "Yes, they are, but I fear it will be some time before they are freed. When we get back to my home, I will send my best warriors to retrieve them. Does that sound okay?" You could only nod your head, the simple action sending your world off kilter. She bid the horse to trot out of Canterbury to an unknown destination, breaking into a full gallop once you had left the city's boundaries. Both you and the Norsewoman understood you had mere hours left. She tried to keep you awake on the journey, asking questions about your name, clan and where you were from, though she mostly got one-worded answers.

"Are you a Dane?" "Yes." You pass over a bridge, the woods of England looking all the same to you.

"Why have you come here?" "Storm." An answer she didn't understand at the time, but continued regardless. The landscape slowly changed from forest to open plain, then to forest, then to marsh. You crossed two more bridges. It was your turn to ask the questions.

"What is your name?" Your speech was slurred, more incoherent. "Eivor."

"Why were you in Canterbury?" A question that she did not outright answer. "Looking for someone."

"Where are we going?"

"Ravensthorpe." A place you did not know, nor seen on any map. "We're almost there. Stay with me."

You couldn't fight to stay awake anymore. "I'm sorry," was all you said before slumping forward on her horse.

She thought you'd died, grabbing hold of your wrist and feeling a wave of relief at finding your faint pulse. She rode twice as hard to her home then, only taking another hour.

When you awoke, you were not dead, nor in your own bed, and could feel bandages straining around your chest, and the scent of herbs filled your senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 has already been written, and i am more than likely going to post it this week! i still want to add another scene or two, but for the most part it is done. chapter 3 has already been outlined too
> 
> kudos and comments feed me


	2. Mending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Graphic descriptions of blood/treating & stitching wounds, mentions of dismemberment (not of the reader). Also some elements that could potentially trigger EDs; you can skip “She then grabbed the bowl of stew…” to “Valka shrugged on an overcoat” if you like. If I ever miss something, please let me know!

What you could see in your blurred vision was both a worry and a comfort. You were in some sort of healer's place, though where you were exactly, you did not remember. Combing your memory for what happened the night before made your head ache, and you felt like your entire head was submerged in water. Laying on your side, you could feel the cooling presence of a soaked cloth on your forehead and smell the herbal scent of whatever balm had been applied to your wounds. At some point you had been bathed by the smell of soap on your skin. All at once, it was too much, and you took a rattling breath that made your entire body ache.

You were not the only one surprised to see you alive. From the corner of your blurred vision you saw movement - a woman, dressed in an assemblage of fine clothing, fur and bones, noticed your eyes opening and the change in your breathing. She approached you slowly, and spoke calmly. 

"Hello, y/n," she said, and in your fever-addled state you thought she had the _prettiest_ accent. "Can you hear me?" You tried to nod your head but the motion made your vision flicker & your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. A soft grumble emerged from the back of your throat at the sensation. The woman's brows furrowed, and she quickly turned away and began to make something. The clatter and clink of ceramics, even as gentle as they were, made you feel as though your head was splitting in two. A minute later, she returned with a cup of something herbal-smelling and warm. _Tea._

"Please, drink this. It will help you," she said, gently lifting your shoulders so you could press your lips to the edge of the cup. Whatever tea it was it tasted like heaven and filled your belly with a warmth that spread across your body, collecting in your fingers. Even though you'd faced the darkest part of your life the night before, it still made you smile, and your vision slowly ebbed back. You could see much clearer now and found yourself examining the multitude of bone chimes, dried herbs & various other decorations in the strange woman's home. She gave a small chuckle upon seeing your smile. "I know you must be afraid, waking in a strange place," she paused, and your brain filled in the blank with _'after what you have been through.'_

"But you do not have to be," she said, gently setting the cup down on the bedside table. "My name is Valka. I am the _völva_ of the Raven Clan. Tell me, do you know where you are?" Remembering anything still hurt, but you had an _idea_ of where you were. "England?" 

"Yes, we are in England. A village named Ravensthorpe. Eivor told you, remember?" No, you did not remember. The last 24 hours or so of your life were a blur of sensation, already locked behind something in your mind to protect itself. _Who is Eivor?_

You had your answer readily enough. Another woman turned the corner, looking worse for wear, blonde hair falling out of a messy-side braid. Something in you stirred, you _did_ recognize her, but… it felt off, in a way, as if you'd known her forever yet forgotten about her still, like some old childhood friend or a distant family member. She stood there awkwardly in the shadows for a moment, the large woman endearingly nervous & fidgeting with her hands while giving Valka a nod. 

"Ah, there you are. Hello Eivor," the seeress said, greeting Eivor in her own way with a small bow and a friendly smile, though you could tell she immediately caught on to Eivor's nervousness. "Are you well?" 

"Yes, Valka, I…" she began, and as you sat up on the bed a little to try and squint to see her better, her ocean blue eyes snapped to your form as if she'd completely forgotten about you, too. She paused for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. "...I am well." A lie. Valka hummed, then turned back to you. 

"You must rest for now, y/n. I will come back later to change your bandages," she said, feeling your forehead again and swapping the now slightly-warm strip of cloth for another cool one. Then she turned back to Eivor, gesturing towards the door on the far side of the hut, and the two left you to your fevered delirium on the bed. Your head swam with questions as you slowly remembered the ride to Ravensthorpe. _Is Eivor okay? Did she find who she was looking for? Are my friends okay? What happened to the arrows in my back? Hmm, what was that tea that Valka made, it tasted good…_

The soft embrace of sleep came quickly to you.

* * *

Eivor took too much shit. She was practically a doormat at this point.

Between that snake bitch Fulke turning on her and Basim at the last moment to sell her brother to King Alfred, then Eivor chasing her across what felt like the entire damn continent to try and get Sigurd back even _after_ he'd insulted her and her late family in some sort of manic state rambling about being 'something greater' and only finding dead ends. Mortifyingly, one of those was a literal dead end; Sigurd's amputated arm. And of course there was Dag, who'd begun to refuse to sail with her on account of her 'not looking for their Jarl while she chases glory.' When she came back from Cent and dropped you off at Valka's hut he'd cornered her in the Longhouse, accusing her of 'bringing back the wrong person,' that she'd somehow forgotten about her brother, as if she had not spent the last six months searching. Dag would have to wait a little longer, just as Eivor would have to wait for another letter from Basim.

It was a miracle she had not unravelled, nor burst at the seams from the amount of stress rolling underneath her skin. She grew anxious, reading too far into the looks of Ravensthorpe's denizens, even the slightest downturned glance sending her into a state where she did not know if she wanted to take it out on destroying something, or cry, or both. Despite it all she was still _kind._ Your rescue had been enough to prove to herself that there was still something human in her. Now she just had to hope you would _stay_ alive, and that the vikingr she gathered to free your kin would not think too lowly of her for even trying while Sigurd was still missing.

To be honest, after a fitful night of barely any sleep, she'd completely forgotten about you. She had gone to Valka for guidance, and for the seeress to give her a chamomile & lavender tincture for restful sleep, and was caught off guard when you roused, already awake and seemingly coherent. You were your own blessing and she'd been grateful to the Gods that you had not passed on overnight. Seeing you suffer at the hands of the Saxons last night had nearly broken something in her mind, especially after Fulke's bloody gift. She had to force herself to stay her hand and not go on a berserked rampage in the middle of the city. She has seen her fair share of blood, war and torture, but for them to take you, something so clearly small and defenseless, and leave you to die an unjust death, alone, left a cold feeling in her bones. 

She took a deep breath of the chilly morning air to clear her mind once she and Valka left her hut, and the two of them walked to the small pond behind. Valka stayed quiet, and sat at the water's edge, motioning for Eivor to join her. The Wolf-Kissed did so, slowly, avoiding the seeress' gaze and stared into the clear waters of the pond, how the morning fog hung over it like a blanket of the fae.

Valka spoke first, looking towards Eivor with a soft expression. She could see the bags under her eyes even in the dim morning light. "Tell me, Eivor. What troubles you? Is it in regards to your brother?" 

Eivor continued to stare at the waters for a moment, contemplating on what to say. _Yes,_ her brother's capture has troubled her greatly. How was she to convince the people of Ravensthorpe that she had not abandoned him, nor her quest of seeing him returned to his people? There was something else. Between her brother's ramblings of being 'something more,' Fulke's notes on him painting a vivid picture of his torture at her hands and that something was awakened within him, even just momentarily, and Basim's cryptic speech towards her for the entirity of it, she felt like she was… left out of something. Out of the loop. There was some connection between all of them that she could not see, nor comprehend. For now, anyway. And between her strange dreams (or maybe memories, she was not sure, they felt so _real_ ) of Asgard and Jötunheimr, and the vision of the wolf-dragon, the blizzard and Sigurd's lost arm (that she now scarcely remembers) when she drank the potion in Rygjafylke, she did not like the inkling of what she thought was the truth. She was not ready to face that part of her. Not yet.

Her speech was quiet, with the hoarse sound of sleep at the back of her throat. "Everything," was all she said. She looked at Valka with an unreadable face, though Valka could see the pain behind her eyes. The Seeress simply nodded in understanding, turning from Eivor to pick at reeds growing along the bank.

"I do not claim to know what is running through your mind, Eivor, but I do feel your pain. The Nornir work in strange ways. Not everything is presented in clear light, as I have told you before," she began, beginning to weave the plants together in a braid. "I understand that your continuous failure to find Sigurd has taken its toll on you. But I do not believe this is the end of your _saga_ , though now it may feel otherwise. What is important is to keep moving forward so that you may find him. Cast away any worry you may have, of what others may think of you. It is your fate to find him. I know so." She finished the braid with a twist, then used another, thinner reed to tie it into a circle; a bracelet. A small, if fleeting, gift. She held it out to Eivor, who gently took it and held it in her palm, running her thumb over the texture of the braid.

"I do not believe the betrayal of your brother lies here, while you strengthen Ravensthorpe and make alliances with the people of England. You are doing what you must for your people. To keep them safe, and fed, though some may not recognize your efforts."

The pair fell silent then, and the sun rose higher into the sky, warming their backs. Eventually, Valka rose. "I should change y/n's dressings." Eivor stayed there for a while longer, still fidgeting with the bracelet in her hand. Mulling over Valka's words, she found it difficult not to ruminate; if this was not her betrayal to Sigurd, what was? Would it be even worse than failing to save him from torture? 

Her thoughts were cut off by a long wailing sound coming from Valka's hut. Immediately, she rushed to the Seeress and you, her body seemingly moving without a mind. The reed-bracelet dangled from her left wrist.

The sight that greeted her was not pretty. In removing your dressings, the lacerations along your back had become greatly irritated and were oozing fresh blood all over one of poor Valka's cots. You shook from the pain, seizing up as if struck by lightning when Valka removed the last strip of cloth. Eivor must have made a shocked sound, as Valka swung her head around to look at her with a pleading look. 

"Please, Eivor. Her wounds are too dire now that I may see them clearly, they are too large and must be sutured. Help me to restrain her," she pleaded, setting the strips in a pot of water to be boiled later and milling about, searching for her iron sewing needle and the catgut thread given to her by Yanli.

Eivor moved to your side, where you were huffing like an injured animal (you sure felt like one) on your belly, eyes unfocused and unmoving. Gently, she brushed your hair up and out of your face and out of the way of your back, and moved to put a portion of her weight on the cot, her thigh resting against the back of your legs and on a portion of your forearms. Too delirious to react, you could only stare forward.

Valka returned quickly. "The arrow-wounds are older, and have been untreated for some time. I removed the heads last night and have drawn out the infection as best I could but I am afraid that they were too close to her spine and have already caused damage. I do not think she will ever truly recover," she said, grabbing a cloth to gently wipe away the blood that had seeped down the length and sides of your back, setting it down on the bedside table. Eivor felt dazed, seeing so much of your blood soaked up by the cloth, even though she'd seen - and lost - much of it before. Despite Valka's words she hoped that you _would_ recover; despite being a complete stranger, your death would do a number on her mind. 

When the needle pierced your flesh, you let out another strained wailing noise, and Valka pulled back as if she'd been burned. She grabbed a jar of some cool-smelling salve off of a shelf and quickly rubbed it into the sides of the first laceration. It was completely alien to you, at first burning hot in a way that made you nearly break your teeth clenching them and then tapering off to a much cooler, nicer, _numbed_ feeling. Your mouth hung open as you took rapid breaths, drooling onto the furs and squeezing your eyes shut. 

Valka quickly yet expertly sewed your flesh together, trying to make the experience as painless and as brief as possible for you, though there was only so much she could do. You'd black out at some points, began shaking again at others, and even with the cooling burn of the balm you could still feel the pierce and pull of the needle stitching you together. All the while Eivor kept a firm, grounding presence, the weight of her at your backside preventing you from squirming and injuring yourself further during the process.

After what felt like an eternity, Valka was finished, and she stood back for a moment to wipe at sweat on her brow. The brand new spool of catgut had almost been used up completely. You'd passed out completely by now, your body too fatigued to endure the last five or so minutes. Eivor had checked your wrist for your pulse again, and felt somehow even more relieved than the last time. She and Valka shared a weary look.

"Will she be alright?"

"I will give her new dressings, and change them each hour as needed… but it is now out of my control if she survives this battle. Her life is in the hands of the Nornir." Eivor looked down at your raw sutured flesh with a mixture of pity and frustration. _Of course. Stay strong, little one._

Eivor hummed, and bid Valka farewell with a nod. As soon as she stepped into the cool spring air of Ravensthorpe, she felt something cold against her thighs and forearms. Looking down, she apparently did not realize the volume of your bloodloss, and there were small - yet very noticeable - stains in the cloth of her tunic and pants. There goes brand new tunic number thirty three. Sighing, she rinsed her hands and her fingernails of your blood in the pond, and made to go to her room in the longhouse to change. As she passed the curve of the building, she spotted Dag storming away from the shipyard towards her, a scowl on his face. Not wanting to deal with his disrespect, she speedwalked as inconspicuously as she could into the longhouse and promptly slammed the door to her room just as Dag entered the building. She felt like a teenager, running away from a responsibility and locking herself in her room, but she supposed that was a sacrifice she'd have to make if she wanted to _relax._

She leaned back against the door, listening to the rustle of Dag's armor and footsteps grow closer, then disappear as he decided to leave her alone, and she let out a long, slow exhale, closing her eyes for a moment, just breathing. 

When she opened her eyes she was greeted by a goofy grin from Mouse, the wolf she'd saved from starving in a cellar. As the settlement grew and seasons went by, she noticed she had a tendency to… collect animals. And people. You were an example. She gave Mouse a little smile. 

"How's my boy?" she chuckled, the wolf nosing her palm, smelling your scent. She reached over with her other hand to scritch behind his ear, making the wolf tilt his head in a funny way to lean into it. She looked at the way the sunlight streamed in through the windows high on the wall, and realized she'd forgotten to feed him on time. Reaching into her bag she procured some dried meat, holding it out to the wolf. "Hungry?"

The wolf sniffed the meat, then oh-so-gently took it from Eivor's hand, as if he was afraid he would hurt her, and trotted off to eat it beside her bed. While he ate, Eivor rummaged through the trunk at the foot of her bed for a new, cleaner set of clothing, changing and throwing the bloodied tunic and pants in the designated 'do this later' corner.

Sitting down on the edge of her furs, she rubbed at her eyes and only _then_ did she feel the true effects of last night's broken sleep. Yawning, she reached into her bag for the chamomile tincture, pouring two or three drops of the bitter-tasting liquid underneath her tongue before swallowing, then washed it down with the last bit of mead in her cup from last night. _I hope Randvi will not think less of me for taking a day or two to rest._

Laying down and pulling the furs up to her chin with Mouse quickly climbing onto the bed beside her, she quickly fell asleep with the help of the tincture, though she would be plagued with yet another vivid dream.

_She was in a clearing, surrounded by wood and bark and foliage, from what she could see lit by moonlight. The quiet drone of crickets filled the air, and no other sound could be heard. Then Eivor's gentle exhales echoed against the bough of every tree, and she willed herself to stop breathing, if only to stop hearing the quiet sound turn deafening within moments. The crickets quieted as her breathing stopped, and the forest was silent for what felt like an eternity. And then a long, baleful cry split the silence, and the once blue shades of the moonlight boughs took a red, bloody hue. Eivor moved towards the sound against her will and against her fear of the suddenness of it, still unbreathing._

_A second cry rang out against the trees, and as Eivor progressed they began to look less like trees, and more like angular cut stone, and they blurred together in her periphery. The ridges of the bark began to glow and formed strange, unreadable glyphs. She was still not breathing._

_A third and final cry was heard closer by, and a distant flock of cawing crows was startled by the sound, and Eivor could hear every single beat of their wings and their hearts. Finally she came upon another clearing, and found a fox ensnared by a trap, whimpering, red vibrant blood running down the creature's leg to form rivers in the soil. It looked to her with wild, slitted, pleading eyes. As Eivor reached into the jaws of the trap to disarm it, the fox cried out again and again and struggled until Eivor had finally broken the trap in half. Instead of being grateful like she expected, the fox clamped its jaws around her hand and pulled with a force that should not have belonged to such a small creature. Crying out in pain, Eivor cradled the hand to her chest, watching the blood curl around her fingers and drip onto the forest floor, and wherever it dripped bright patches of red moss grew. When she looked up again, she did not see a fox, but saw you, dressed in a sheer white gown with the same slitted, now guilty, eyes and a bloodied mouth. You opened your mouth to say something, but the only sound that came out was a pleased moan._

She awoke with a gasp.

* * *

The next morning came, and when you stirred you were greeted by the savory smell of stew. There was a constant dull, radiating pain coming from your back, and though you could not remember what happened clearly, you knew that your split skin had been stitched together. Blinking rapidly you tried to raise a hand to wipe at the sleep in your eyes and the simple motion caused a new wave of pain as the muscles in your shoulder screamed and you hissed, forcing your body to relax and rest your arm again. This would not be an easy thing to recover from, but you knew that you would adapt.

Valka took notice of your sound, and moved to stand by the bedside. "Good morning, y/n. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," you said with a hoarse voice, gently pushing yourself to lean more of your weight on your side than your stomach. The seeress pressed her palm to your forehead, and hummed, pleased. "Your fever has gone down a bit."

She then grabbed the bowl of stew on the side table and held it towards you. "Are you hungry?"

Your body answered the question, your stomach growling and mouth watering at the smell of the hearty stew. You'd forgotten that the last time you ate was four nights ago, and it'd been only stale bread and water. Maybe eating a savory, hot meal was not the best decision but right now you'd kill for it. You eagerly accepted the bowl and spoon held out for you using your slightly less painful arm. It was _amazing_ , melting over your tongue and perfectly spiced, and as you expected far too much for your belly after being empty for four days. You took three spoonfuls before a wave of nausea hit you, and you had to set it back on the table.

Valka had turned away to make another numbing salve and let you eat in peace, then heard you set the bowl down. She did not look up from the mortar and pestle for a moment, but still acknowledged you. "Are you well?" 

To be honest, no. "I will have to eat slowly," you said, sitting up slightly in the cot and fidgeting with your hands.

Valka, kind soul, was all-accommodating. "Would you like something simpler? Bread perhaps? Tarben bakes the best loaves, and I am sure he would enjoy a new patron," she said, sending you a gentle smile. Bread would be gentler on your stomach… you nodded, and settled back down in the cot for now. 

Valka shrugged on an overcoat made of raven's feathers and thick bear fur, and bid you farewell with "I will return within a half hour," leaving you to blissful solitude in her hut.

With your fever quelled, you could think more clearly than before and remembered _much_ more. The raid, Franklin's cowardice, being captured, being tortured… all in a few days, the life as you'd known it had been turned on its head, and here you were, half-dead in a town you didn't even know existed. All thanks to the mysterious woman that had saved you from a worse fate. And then your mind turned to Frederik, and despite being injured, your blood boiled with a new fury as you thought of all the ways you would confront and kill him for what he'd done not only to you but your clan as well. You could only hope that Gunnar, Vilmar and the rest of your friends were still alive.

Your furious thoughts were cut short when you heard footsteps from the entrance of the home, though they were not Valka's. Curious, you peeked around the corner to your ability, and were greeted by the figure of the giant Norse again. Eivor. She appeared rested, though worrisome, playing with the sleeves of her tunic. "Valka, are you here? I had another vision," she said, keeping her gaze to the floor… troubled by something.

You chose to speak up. "No, she left to get bread from Tarben." This startled the mighty _drengr,_ and she almost comically jumped from the sound of your voice with wide eyes before forcing a much more stoic front, furrowing her brows. It almost made you giggle. Trying to spare herself from more embarrassment, she turned to leave. "Thank you."

"Wait!" you yelled out, a bit too loud and a bit too harsh, making you cough from your throat's sudden use after days of scarcely speaking above a whisper, and the action filled your ribs with fresh pain, making you wheeze. Eivor had stopped in the doorway, looking back at you with a puzzled and concerned expression. "Wait, I…" you began, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath.

"I wanted to thank you," you said, feeling suddenly small and anxious. "For saving me." The floor did indeed look very interesting.

Eivor blinked. "Of course," she started, facing you fully now. "It was the least I could do, after what the Saxons did." You slowly sat up in the cot again, oh how the floor was so interesting, and there was a long pause between the both of you, as if you'd wanted to say more yet could not find the backbone to do so.

You spoke again first. "I remember why I was there," you said, running your fingers over and through the fur blanket. "What happened before I was captured." Eivor walked a little closer, leaning back on a table with her arms crossed. "Why?"

You met her strikingly blue eyes. "My Jarl betrayed me. My clan. Left us to die," you explained, voice laced with bitterness and remorse. Eivor stayed silent but held your gaze.

"He had a choice, of doing the best for his people, or for himself. He broke the only oath he promised to us. Left us to die at the hands of the Saxons after we'd raided Raculf monastery. Things went smoothly at first, then reinforcements came… there was no way we would have fought our way out. And instead of negotiating, even _attempting_ something, he ran."

Eivor hummed. "...what is his name?"

"Frederik Mikkelsen."

She took note of this, filing it away into her memory. Another long pause. "Why did you raid Raculf?"

You sighed. "For supplies. Frederik made it out to be some sort of conquest. We'd been sailing to Normandy to establish a new settlement for his father but were thrown off course by a storm, landed here in England. We were still fucking drying our clothes when he sent us off to raid. Couldn't wait a damn week for assistance from another Dane camp. I swear something snapped in his head as soon as he saw that storm," you said, reaching over for another spoonful of the stew, though your stomach still complained.

At some point Eivor had looked down at the floor again, mulling over your words. She'd send out a rescue party tomorrow. "I will see to it that your kinsmen are rescued as soon as possible," she said somberly. She knew the pain you felt, having the direction of your life turned completely around. Of having to leave it behind to wither in the past, to let your rage fester and seek revenge for wrongdoings. "And if I hear word of Frederik, I will let you know."

Eivor's kindness was blinding. You could only muster a small "thank you," and Eivor took this as the time to leave. She went to duck under the door frame, then promptly bumped right into Valka.

Valka nearly dropped the basket of bread but caught it at the last second. "Oof! Oh, my apologies, Eivor. I did not know you would be here. Is something the matter?" Eivor only shot Valka a small apologetic smile and shook her head, and bid the two of you farewell. She would discuss her dream with the seeress some other time.

You ate a bit of the bread, your stomach still not properly enjoying the sensation of being filled after days of not eating but the loaves were soft and warm and far easier on you. Valka then made you more of the sweet-smelling tea, and suggested that you rest. Whatever was in that tea blissfully knocked you out cold. You can't be in pain if you're unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words 🥺❤️ comments, kudos and bookmarks keep me going! it is nice to write not only to get the narratives in my head out but for other people, too :) Chapter 3 has been written (it's a biggun, was originally supposed to be a lot more but I wrote waaay too much and had to split it into two chapters) & I'll probably post it in a few days. Again big thank you to Ilka/abbysfrenchbraid for sifting through my mostly-3am writing and fixing the little things I wouldnt have caught LOL


	3. Assuage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for alcohol consumption/inebriation, mentions and descriptions of death.

As soon as Eivor bid you farewell, she set out to speak with Randvi to discuss sending scouts forward to Canterbury. Before rushing in blindly with axes drawn, she'd preferred to know if the Saxons had increased their numbers after you'd gone missing in the night… and, mortifyingly, if there were any members of your kith left to save. If they rode hard, they'd reach the city within hours. That was what she hoped, anyhow.

Entering the longhouse, she would never tire of the smell of woodsmoke and ale that greeted her. Gentle conversations hummed about the air as some of her _vikingr_ wound down from their rigorous training sessions - they sent Eivor bright smiles, some even encouraging her to join them.

"Eivor!" one called out, raising his mug of ale in the air. "Will you join us for a drink?"

"I have other things to do," she said, and laughed as some made disappointed sounds and faces. "Fear not, my warriors. I will join you soon enough." This placated her intoxicated brethren well enough, and she took the chance to slip past them to the settlement's strategy room. Before she entered, she found Randvi turned away from her, scribbling away, writing something on a piece of parchment so harshly that she could hear the scratch of the quill from where she stood. Leaning against the archway she rapped her knuckles in a familiar pattern against the wood, and Randvi nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling around with wide eyes, dropping the quill and nearly spilling ink all over what she had been writing. "Eivor!" she yelped, and Eivor nearly felt her cheeks split from how much she smiled, chuckling, hiding it behind her knuckles and looking at Randvi slyly. "Did I Interrupt you?"

Randvi was uncharacteristically flushed. "I - no, well, yes, but…" Eivor only chuckled again, approaching the smaller woman and giving her a playful shake of her shoulder. "No worries, Randvi. I will not ask what you were writing of." This didn't seem to calm her, and Randvi could not meet the Wolf-kissed's eyes. Ever since Eivor had accidentally stumbled upon Randvi's note, ' _it is becoming increasingly difficult to look across the alliance table at Eivor,_ ' even after Eivor's somewhat rejection of Randvi's affections at the tower - ' _It is best we wait,_ ' she said, and the longer Sigurd was gone the more she had grown to regret those words - Randvi had been so embarrassed by the unintentional confession that whenever she was reminded of it she'd turn a new color. It endeared Eivor, in a fun and silly way where Randvi needn't be so embarrassed by such a thing (as she'd told her many times before), and it made her think of awkward young love; wanting more, but not knowing how to go about it and bumbling through it. Suddenly Eivor was reminded of Sigurd, and that Randvi was Sigurd's wife, and not hers, so she let her hand fall from the other woman's shoulder as she took a step back with a smaller, if bittersweet, smile.

Randvi, now visibly more composed, ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Hello, Eivor. Did you need something?" _Ah, the old 'let's talk about the settlement to ignore what just happened._ '

Eivor gave a nod, looking towards the Alliance map. "I'd like to send scouts to Canterbury, in Cent," she said, leaning over the table to attempt to map the quickest route in her head. 

"Cent? Weren't you just there?" Randvi questioned, crossing her arms as she approached the table wearily. It was suddenly very hard to look at Eivor again as the muscles in the warrior's arms bulged with the strain of holding herself up and the very specific angle Randvi was given of the woman's body made her think of… things.

Eivor looked up from the table and nodded again. "Yes, I was. But this is not for our clan. Do you remember y/n, the Dane I had told you about two nights ago?" 

"Yes… what of her?" Randvi seemed hesitative, unsure of where Eivor was going with this.

"Some members of her clan were imprisoned there, or converted, I am not sure. From what she had told me, they were not treated well… and… you've seen her, haven't you?" Randvi recalled seeing your pale, limp form in the warrior's arms when Eivor had returned yelling at the top of her lungs for Valka, and how even in the flickering light of torches she could see the extent of your injuries. In her mind, it had looked like you were attacked by a bear. She nodded.

"It… it does not sit well with me, to leave them behind in such a place. With luck most of them are still alive, or have been converted and are living a simpler life… but I fear it may not be the case. The city, especially near the church where they are, had been heavily guarded. And I fear that they may have increased the guard after I took y/n from death, or…" she huffed, and shook her head as she drew her fingers over the symbol that marked Cent on the map, "or if more of them had been disrespected like that, as some sort of punishment."

Randvi did not know you, nor did she know your clan, but understood that this mattered greatly to you. And apparently to Eivor, by extension. Putting two and two together, she realized it was not a bear that had attacked you, but that you had been whipped or maimed in religious persecution. She nodded again. "I will send them at once."

Eivor sent Randvi a weary smile. "Please, hurry. If they ride hard and follow the rivers south they will reach the city within hours." Randvi matched Eivor's smile, and the Wolf-Kissed left, returning to her warriors. 

Almost immediately she had a mug of Tekla's finest mead in her hand and a chorus of welcomes from the other _vikingr,_ and she laughed as she sat down on a bench. While she was talking with Randvi they had started their own little feast; someone had gone out hunting earlier that day and brought back a boar, and they'd butchered and smoked it over the fire. Tarben was more than happy to provide fresh loaves of bread and even some sweets, like raspberry tarts. The sun was setting now, and even though they had done little over the past few days aside from train and spar, the overall mood was joyous and lighthearted. At some point someone had begun to sing and nearly everyone joined in, including a not-so sober Eivor, whose voice had dropped from that smooth sound to the rougher, hoarse rasp.

When the song ended they laughed and laughed, and then someone else came into the longhouse - Eivor could not see who, between the drink and her friends swaying bodies - then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and those in front of her suddenly quieted and stared, as if some great ugly beast or God stood over her. Glancing behind her she understood why. Dag. Beast it was.

Dag said nothing for a moment, only looking at Eivor with a _nasty_ scowl and an iron-tight grip on her shoulder. Even though she'd drunk enough to feel it in the morning by now she could still smell the alcohol wafting from Dag, too. Instinctively she locked eyes with him and shrugged his hand off in a very clear message. _Back off._

Dag somehow scowled even deeper and fought back a growl, slurring his speech. "Eivor! How nice to _see_ you! Say, _where_ is your brother? It's been some _time_ since I last saw him!" he jabbed, the ale loosening his tongue and his mind into a sarcastic bitter mess.

Eivor was not having any of this. Especially not in front of half of the settlement. "Go away, Dag. I will speak with you later," she said, turning back to her mug of ale and chugging down the rest. Dag did not like that at all, no.

Frustrated and intoxicated he grabbed onto Eivor's shoulder and pushed then yanked, throwing her off balance and nearly sending her to the floor but, luckily, she caught herself. And reoriented herself, and sent Dag the _most_ pissed off look, and suddenly the entire longhouse silenced. Dag was not phased.

Standing and facing the other viking directly, she continued to stare him down. _Go on, dumbass. Disrespect me infront of everyone. See how it treats you in the coming days._

Dag took the bait. "Eivor, why do I find you here, drunk and revelling for no reason, when our jarl is missing? Hm? Do you not care for him?" he snarled, though he did step back a pace. Nervous. "Or are you glad to finally be _rid of him_?" 

"End this, Dag. You and I both know that is not why he has not been found." 

"But how _convenient_ it is for him to be missing for all these months!" Dag liked to talk with his body and, now drunk, stumbled about. "How convenient he has not been found in Grantebridge, Cent, Essexe, err… S-Snogginham… even Vinland! Have you no care for your people's jarl to be returned to them?" 

Eivor was tired of this. The other vikingr were, too. They understood why Eivor had not yet returned with Sigurd. Dag did not. Taking on a dangerous edge between infuriated and serpentine, she stalked toward Dag, getting in his space. " _You know that is not why Sigurd is still missing._ I have said it thrice now. And yet you continue to disrespect me like this, in front of all of Ravensthorpe, and even _they_ know why. Sigurd trusted me to be his surrogate. If he were here, he would approve of me finding allies to strengthen our people. Why can't you, _Dag?"_

"Sigurd would not chase glory like this if you were missing, Eivor! He -"

Eivor cut him off. "He what? Would have to suffer you caterwauling in his ear every day, too? While he does the same things, finding friends and allies in the people of England to strengthen our place here? Both you and I know that he _would_ chase glory. You're a fucking idiot if you think otherwise. He has trusted me to substitute him, as he would for me. We are the _same,_ Dag. And you have disrespected me time and time again. Maybe he would approve of me sending you to Helheim if you even _think_ about causing a scene like this again." Maybe the drink was loosening her tongue, too.

Dag visibly recoiled, then fumed, stepping into the shieldmaiden's space even more. Eivor grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking him. "Dag! Nobody wants him returned more than I do, Dag! Every single time I have an inkling of where he is he is taken from me again! What will it take to prove you this? Should we draw a circle? Should I give you more silver? Would you like to become an advisor so you can _witness_ directly the piles of horse-shit dealings with inbred Saxons marrying and killing each other over a minor throne that I have to work with near daily? I don't even know if I _can_ ally with all of England seeing that nearly every province hates the next! I'm sick of this! Of _course_ I want Sigurd back, Dag!"

Dag simply let Eivor rant, closing his eyes somewhere halfway through to both think more clearly and stop the spinning of the room. He was silent for a moment, as if pondering something, and then looked towards Eivor with a grievous expression, slowly removing her hands from his shoulders.

"...no, you do not have to draw a _holmgang._ I have been an idiot many times over. I'm ale-addled but I can only ask that…" he paused, then suddenly dropped to a knee. _The dog shows his belly._ "Please, forgive me. It was… it was only that I could not face the potential of Sigurd's death, far from his home and his people. I have disrespected you _and_ your brother by treating you these ways. I have broken the oath I promised to Sigurd. You should think of slaughtering me for it."

_Finally._ Eivor would not forgive easily, nor would she ever forget Dag's behavior over the last year, but she held out a hand to him. "I will not let a fine warrior go to waste like that. You can start apologizing by joining my crew again, Dag." To be honest she'd missed his silly stories as they sailed across ocean and river. Dag took her hand and stood, nodding. "Of course, Eivor." She squeezed his hand before letting go, and then the bustle of the other vikingr began again, and it was as if a collective sigh of relief came from every living being in Ravensthorpe. She did not feel as if she had to address everyone, either; it just came naturally, a weight lifted off her shoulders and respite rolled over everyone like a huge ocean wave. Exhausted from the encounter and by the mead muddying her mind she bid Dag farewell and stumbled up to her room. Dag then sat at one of the tables, and though alone at first he was quickly joined by the other warriors and was soon laughing and telling tales.

She didn't know how much she'd drank (she'd stopped counting after 9 or 10 mugs) but it was enough to make the process of opening her door, closing it, taking off the stupidly intricate straps of the assassin's blade and her boots, and crawling under her furs _extremely_ difficult. By the time she had gotten to her bed she just threw herself on it and almost immediately passed out into a dreamless sleep. Miles away from the resting _drengr,_ two scouts reached their destination, and what greeted them was not pretty.

* * *

  
  


"Eivor!" A knock at her door.

Groaning, Eivor snapped her eyes open then promptly shut them tight at the room spinning. She was still drunk, though in the weird realm of drunk-yet-hungover. "Give… give me a minute," she rasped out, throwing her arm over her face and willing her mind to reorient itself. "That is fine. But please, join me at the planning table as soon as you are able." Ah. Randvi.

Eivor did not know when she would be able. Gazing out into the darkness of her room she surmised it was now night, or maybe early morning? Slowly peeling herself from the confines of her bed she rubbed at her eyes, then lit a few more candles so she could see what she was doing. Throwing her boots, a lightly armored chestpiece, her weapons and her cape on she stumbled out and down to the planning room. It was early morning by the amount of drunk and sated warriors lying about the longhouse. She was not a morning person, but for Randvi, and how disturbed she had sounded, well…

Turning the corner to the archway of the room, the Wolf-Kissed could see Randvi visibly pacing back and forth, worried. She sighed in immediate understanding, startling the smaller woman again yet less comically this time. "Eivor, the -" 

"The scouts returned with ill findings," she finished, leaning a great portion of her weight against the archway. By the Gods it was so difficult to stand and stay awake. Randvi nodded. "Yes, they have, and I fear it is more dire than we both thought," she said, throwing down a map drawn by one of the scouts. Eivor pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tell me."

"They've increased the guards tenfold, something about a thegn or some other visiting. The scouts did locate some of y/n's clan but they are… not in good shape. Corralled in cages like dogs, as thin as if they had not eaten properly in weeks. You were right about the Saxons punishing some of them for y/n's disappearance. They… they took at least three of them, left them to die as she was supposed to. It is too late for them. With their state and the strengthened garrison, it may be too great of a risk and too fruitless to try and recover them."

Eivor seethed. "No. That is not an option. I'll burn that city to the ground even if to save at least one of y/n's clan." This surprised Randvi. Eivor had only met you a few days prior, yet she was willing to destroy a city for you? Hmm. In Eivor's mind, she thought of her home being attacked, of every single family member being slaughtered and taken away from her by Kjotve. She could see the parallels. She would not let another soul suffer the cruelty she has endured.

"My men, drunk as they may be, should prepare to leave ere midday. We'll sail south, follow the rivers to Cent's northwestern border, then ride to the city, straight through to the prisons. Run in and out. Recover as many as we are able, they'll slaughter them all otherwise. Send forth two dozen horses to the harbor just past Roucistere, where the river Thames and Medeuuage meet the sea, there is a small harbor there," she said brusquely, turning from Randvi and leaving the other woman to fret and wake the other warriors (as gently as she could) to notify them of the plan. _They will understand the suddenness_ , Eivor thought.

Then her thoughts turned to you. _I should tell her that we will recover what we can of her clan today._ She made for Valka's hut, and by then the world had lightened just slightly so as the sun began to peak over the eastern hills. Pushing through the seeress' bone curtains as quietly as she could, she was surprised to see you already awake and crying into the arms of Valka.

Valka did not look to Eivor, only holding you in her lap and smoothing your hair out like a mother. You were breathing too fast, your face sweaty and pale.

"What happened?" came Eivor's gruff voice, still tinged with sleep and drink. Immediately your head snapped to her and a string of pleads came from your mouth, grasping towards her and taking one of her hands in yours.

" _Please,_ Eivor, _please._ You must hurry, find my clan, find Gunnar, _please!_ " You were hyperventilating again. The dream had been so _real._

You had rested calmly for the first half of the day after Eivor left, and had woken up some time before the sun set to relieve yourself and help yourself to more bread and tea. The second time you fell asleep, however, you were plagued by a living nightmare.

_All around you were the sounds of swords clashing, the smell of housefire, the pelt of freezing rain against your skin. You were back at the raid of the monastery, and everywhere you looked you could see copies of the same church, the endless battle of your kinsmen versus the Saxons, and though you longed to join them in beating back their forces you found that you were unarmed. Wading through the piles and piles of bodies upon the blood-stained ground you walked towards the most central copy of the church, and how small it made you feel, the spindling white spires of the marble roof rising into the air like teeth. You did not remember the incline leading to the church being this long or this steep, but who were you to question it?_

_Finally you had reached the summit, and the church was so large and tall now that even the doorway was a singular, gigantic arch and the spires reached so high into the ash-clouded sky that you could no longer see where they ended. Did the church always have a blue and gold hue…? Your ponderings were cut short by the image of a long, long table surrounded by dozens and dozens of seats, all empty, save for one appearing in front of you. Seated in the middle-most chair was Gunnar, sitting perfectly still with his arms and hands laid in a cup in front of him, as if he were a statue. Slowly you approached, tentatively calling out "Gunnar?" to which he did not respond. When you got within eyesight of Gunnar's warm, joyous blue eyes (you had always thought he had the most calming and always jovial eyes you'd ever seen), he suddenly stood, though he did not move his arms from their position. He stood there until you called out another, even more hesitant "Gunnar."_

_Then, all at once, as if his neck had been spliced by some invisible force, his head toppled down from his shoulders right into his open palms. You screamed and cried, trying to rush forward though you were suddenly held back by hands, so many grasping hands, with vice grips on your skin that threatened to tear it from your very being. The scene before you shifted, and instead of Gunnar's own hands holding his head, a spear of twisting wood and hanging vine pierced through the back of his skull and sprung forth out of his forehead like a horn, and despite being visibly dead his eyes were not clouded as you'd expected, still carrying the same calming blue. Shocked, you could not move, and only stared forward into his eyes. You did not notice Frederik approaching you from your periphery._

_He gently set a hand upon your shoulder, and you could only continue to look forward, weeping. "It's a shame, isn't it?" spoke Frederik, and when you turned to him he smiled, then grinned, until it grew wider and wider and his mouth split into two and his teeth lengthened, his eyes became slits, and his long golden-blonde hair turned to spikes. All at once he became a serpent, dripping venom upon the dessicated head of Gunnar, coiling scaled tendrils around the spear and the table. He hissed, flaring his nostrils, and reared back to strike. You willed yourself to move but could not find the strength to do it. You could not even close your eyes._

_And then, behind him, a second pair of great and terrible eyes beset upon Frederik, and with a great roar that shook the entire world another serpent appeared with countless corpses upon its glittering back and wings, smoke billowing from it's nostrils like the ash-clouds of the raid. Before the Frederik-Serpent could strike, or turn around to look at the Great-Serpent, the jaws of the dragon rushed forward and snapped around the smaller serpent and Gunnar's head, crushing the both of them instantaneously into glittering blue dust and fog._

You woke up screaming.

Instantly Valka had been at your side, even though she had been pulled from her own sleep. You could not find the right words to describe what you had just seen. It was _so, so wrong_. You did not want to think of Gunnar dying such a way. You could not think of the friend you'd known since you were a child dying as a result of Frederik's oath breaking. You'd cried into Valka's chest as she held you close like your mother used to when you were a babe and after a while you tried to explain best your nightmare, and though your words were disjointed and few and far between, Valka could understand that it was a portent, and only willed you to calm yourself down, shushing you and petting your hair. You would calm down to breathe sometimes, then remember Gunnar's head and the two serpents and be sent into hysterics again. This continued for the better part of half an hour before Eivor arrived.

Eivor held your hand and squeezed it with both hands, looking deep into your eyes. "I have already made preparations to leave today with my men to retrieve what we can of your family," she said, and her words puzzled you for a moment before a wave of relief washed over you, calming you for the time being. She squeezed your hand again, and leaned in close to your face. While she was up this close, even through your teary vision, you noticed small details of her face that you'd never noticed before; the scar on her cheek dragging from the corner of her eye down to her mouth; another, smaller scar across her upper lip; how her nose seemed to have been broken at some point with how the bridge of it slightly bent at at angle to the right; a mess of scars on her neck that you could not imagine the origin of. _She's been through a lot._

She spoke lowly, calmly, and you found some sort of solace in the way her dulcet voice growled with the sound of tiredness. "I know it is difficult, but you need to prepare for the worst. I will do my best to save your people, but…" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "...but they have already spent so long imprisoned by the Saxons. There may not be many of them left," she confessed, her voice hitting a somber note. You understood immediately. It was as you feared, your rescue spurring on the indoctrination and culling of more of your clan. You gulped and nodded, holding back more tears, lip quivering. "Alright," you said, voice brittle. Eivor held onto your hand for a moment longer and gave it one last parting squeeze before leaving Valka and you to calm yourselves.

It was still early morning, and her warriors would not be ready for the ride just yet, so she set about to prepare her actual armor and clean her weapons (and take a much needed and calming bath), then helped to prepare for the attack. Rowan had already lended her the horses needed for the journey, and Gunnar did not mind distributing more of his higher-quality weapons and armor to her warriors. Despite being on such a short notice after a night of revelling, there was a certain electricity to the air, energizing everyone to prepare as fast they could. Or maybe it was the fact that the warriors were excited to go back to pillaging and battle after nearly 3 weeks of sparring. To her joy, she found Dag amongst those preparing for the day ahead. Hours passed quickly, and final preparations were made just before the sun hit its highest point in the sky.

Gathering her vikingr, she quickly rebriefed them on the plan, then bid them to board the ship to Canterbury. Given the fair weather, the speed of her longship and their blood-hungered weapons, they would reach the city within 3 hours.

They would return by nightfall with sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping to post chapter 4 either tonight or tomorrow! i still feel like ubisoft didn't have to kill dag like that :( but this is My fic and I Choose the Canon Divergence


	4. Asunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death.

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her _vikingr_ were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly. 

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but _what_ was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her _vikingr_ follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey. 

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, _stick together_ ," she explained, and her _vikingr_ nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you _must_ , if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the _vikingr._ "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night. 

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. _Good._

Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her _vikingr_ beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. _Shit._

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed. 

Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and _run._ They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in. 

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her _vikingr_ rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do _that_ again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could. 

She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. _Ah._

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a _far_ worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up. 

Taking a headcount, every single one of her _drengr_ survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live. 

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered. 

At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood. 

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man. 

"...What would be your last wishes, _drengr?_ " she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after. 

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. _Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death._ Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

* * *

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you _had_ to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you _too_ much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered _who_ was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and _wailed_ , a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other _einherjar_ in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will. 

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away. 

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking _through_ her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done _anything_ …" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how _cold_ you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks. 

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then." 

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. _Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says…_ you did not see any other path. 

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded. 

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the _drengr,_ feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. _You will always find a home with me._

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, _lagr_ _kærr."_

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet. 

Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. _She still had reports to write._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I PROMISE the next chapter will have a lot more actual ship content/fluff .. had 2 get the angst and character arc set up first u kno how it is


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